


cold coffee and cologne coats

by catarinquar



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e20 Three of a Kind, F/M, Fluff, airports... bad weather... coffee... u know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catarinquar/pseuds/catarinquar
Summary: She forgets everything about roasted beans, bitterness, cream, and caffeine for a second; speaks directly to his heart, not too worried about leaving lipstick stains on his suit jacket or shirt, rather hoping he’ll find the marks later - she could nip his god-awful tie -"Just... want to stand here for a little."-post-three of a kind. scully finds mulder waiting for her.





	cold coffee and cologne coats

**Author's Note:**

> in answer to a prompt from @frangipanidownunder on tumblr (18: i found you waiting for me)

If she never sees the three stooges again, it will be too soon. To be fair, Byers at least looks genuinely apologetic, but _no, thank you,_ there is _no_ need for them to drive her to the airport. She’ll bill them for her cab fare in addition to everything else.

At McCarran the plane can’t get permission for takeoff because of _technical difficulties_. Thirty minutes. Once they’re in the air, the turbulence gets worse and worse the further east they get; the older woman on Scully’s right notices her white-knuckled iron grip on the armrest and offers kind but useless advice, _my grandson tried this, my daughter tried that, do you need a paper bag? You shouldn’t consume too much caffeine before flying, darling, does chewing gum usually help?_ Several babies are crying. Thirty minutes.

At Dulles they can’t get permission to land because of the horrible weather, fifteen minutes; then they’re taxiing around until first their gate and later just _some_ gate is free, twenty minutes; then there’s _technical difficulties_ with the jetway, fifteen minutes - and in the end it’s by stairs and across the tarmac anyway.

She is soaked by the time she makes it inside.

She has to wait at the air-conditioned baggage claim for another twenty-five minutes before her suitcase appears. Missing a wheel.

She is decidedly not looking forward to the dirty, smelly, thirty-minute cab drive home to Georgetown.

It really isn’t that strange that she doesn’t hear him call her name, that she walks straight into him, that she is about to bite his head off, but then -

“Hi.”

“Mulder?” Yes, Mulder, and he’s nodding and grinning, _that’s me, Scully, I’m so pleased you recognised me_. It occurs to her that they’re blocking the ever-heavy pedestrian airport traffic, standing right inside the _Arrivals_ doors. People are parting around them with mean glances, but right now, people can damn well deal. “Hi. What… what are you doing here?”

He looks down for a second. “I thought I’d pick you up.”

Oh. “That’s -” _Oh._ “But I’m. The flight, I’m - I’m more than two hours delayed, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “I’ve been waiting. Read some magazines, gave the Gunmen an ass-chewing on your behalf even though I know you’ve probably ripped them to shreds at least a couple of times already. Counted half a billion airplane windows, you know, the usual. Lots of the hot stuff,” he holds up three stacked paper cups, dried foam trailing down the sides.

Coffee, God, she could use coffee. Really, she’s ready to mainline it. She tilts her head and pouts, feeling only slightly less miserable than she pretends to be. Says, “did you get any for me?” and draws out the last word.

“I, uh… I _did_.” He gestures again,”at least one of these were for you, but I’m afraid it’d be two hours cold by now, so…” he trails off, frowning.

She’s tired, exhausted, freezing, and Mulder is emanating warmth. She finds herself leaning towards him, just a little. Sometimes - oh, no, but yes - sometimes, he seems so very, very… _very_ kissable. Except he’s too damn tall and he doesn’t have any coffee for her because he drank it himself. She is on the verge of tears, and she _whimpers_.

“Hey, Scully, don’t cry,” Mulder insists, touching her cheek briefly to get her to look up. She realises maybe - maybe he doesn’t quite know how to do this either, but he _is_ trying. He has been waiting for her in an overcrowded airport with horrible chairs and flickering lights for over two hours, and he only drank her coffee because there’d be no point in handing it over cold. Looking at him, she thinks it really is a miracle that the height difference is still there to act as a major impediment; they’re in an airport, for God’s sake. “There’s a Starbucks down at the exit, we’ll just stop by on our way out now, yeah?”

If she leans any further, she’ll fall over and take him down with her. She takes just a tiny step closer instead and lets him draw her the rest of the way in. God, he really is warm. She forgets everything about roasted beans, bitterness, cream, and caffeine for a second; speaks directly to his heart, not too worried about leaving lipstick stains on his suit jacket or shirt, rather hoping he’ll find the marks later - she could nip his god-awful tie -

“Yeah. In a minute, though. Just… want to stand here a little.”

He grins softly and - she thinks - kisses the part in her wet hair, but then _a little_ is cut even shorter when an airport staffer finally asks them to move out of the way. Her suitcase tilts and drags, and Mulder turns back when she swears under her breath. “What’s wrong?”

She pokes it with a pointed shoe. “Amongst other horrors, my stupid suitcase has lost a wheel,” she sniffles.

“Let’s make a trade,” he offers, shrugging off his coat before draping it over her shoulders, “if you take this, then I… will take your stupid suitcase,” he finishes, prying the handle from her.

She hums in appreciation. The wool has retained his body heat. Smells like him, too, and he’s looking at her as if he knows how that makes her feel; to be wrapped up in him. Maybe as if - as if he’d hoped for it. “Thank you.” She nudges him, says, “I don’t think you’ll need both hands for that, though,” and steals one of them for herself to hold.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on [tumblr](https://catarinquar.tumblr.com)!


End file.
